Rosewater Oasis your excellence

The former grand marshal—an envoy from Ta-senet, no less. His father’s court had sent him a gift wrapped in submission, bowing low before him in the desert heat. Samirseti allowed a faint flicker of amusement to touch his lips, though his gaze remained steady, unyielding. Composed, imperious, and inscrutable. The former grand marshal—an envoy from Ta-senet, no less. His father’s court had sent him a gift wrapped in submission, bowing low before him in the desert heat. Samirseti allowed a faint flicker of amusement to touch his lips, though his gaze remained steady, unyielding.

He circled Arkane then, a black-and-gold panther pacing with precision, his eyes never leaving the groveling form. A grand marshal, he mused, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. A man accustomed to giving orders, now bowing to receive them. How fitting. Tell me, Arkane, what does it feel like to set aside your crown of command and kneel before your Pharaoh? He came to a stop before the man once more, lowering his head just slightly to peer down at him. The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

You say you are mine, my shadow, my sword. But shadows are fleeting, and swords dull with time. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Arkane’s lowered muzzle. Prove to me, Grand Marshal, that you are more than just a pretty gift sent to curry favor. Let us see that your worth extends beyond the whispers of my father’s court. He had so willingly left it behind for many reasons. Treachery being one of them. Few were as loyal to Rahotep as they were to the divine one before him. Samir would not fall to the same fate. Samir lifted a paw, its gilded claws glinting in the sunlight, and swiped it gently along the line of Arkane’s powerful jaw. The touch was neither harsh nor tender, but commanding—an unspoken order. Rise, he intoned.

As Arkane obeyed, towering to his full height, Samir tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over the broad, scarred expanse of the man’s body. Power rippled beneath Arkane’s dark fur, each scar a mark of battles fought and survived, of lessons learned and strength earned. He was a monument to resilience, to might—and Samir approved.

A low hum rumbled in the back of the Pharaoh’s throat, almost like a purr of satisfaction. I have no use for disloyal things, Arkane. Tell me—do you bend only for me?